


For the Hind

by sunryder



Series: Lady Joanna [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Jon, Female Jon Snow, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: Father withdrew an envelope from his doublet. He paused with it in his hand and for a moment Shireen was terrified her father had brought back a marriage offer from one of the sons of Winterfell. His quiet declaration that, “This is a letter from Lady Joanna Snow,” could not have been a greater surprise. He set the letter on the table between them and pushed it to Shireen before immediately turning to his plate.He determinedly did not watch her unfold the missive, and Shireen pretended not to notice.





	1. Chapter 1

“Look at you, my little lady!” Davos swept Shireen off her feet and into his arms, then pretended to stumble and groan under her weight. “Ugh, I think you’ve grown!” Davos had made the same joke every time he came home since Shireen was seven, but still, she giggled. He’d do the same for Devan, Staffon, and Young Stannis when he found them in the kitchen, and Shireen would laugh then too.

“You’ve only been gone a month.”

“A month is plenty of time for a young lady to grow too tall for a poor, old fisherman like me to carry her.”

“Then perhaps I will have to grow enough to carry you.”

“Ah!” Davos half dropped her and though she knew it was coming, she gasped and laughed again. “What cheek!”

“I learned from the best.”

Davos threw his head back and cackled. “That you did.” As one they turned to look at Shireen’s father, who watched them both with that lightness to the tired lines of his face that was the closest he got to smiling when there were people about. Davos let Shireen slip from his grip and she stepped close to her father, her chin tilted up to look him in the eye. “Welcome home, father.”

“Thank you, Shireen. I trust you are well?”

“Perfectly so, Father. Thank you for asking.”

With that, they went together up the long stair from Dragonstone’s harbor to the castle proper, and Father must have missed her dearly because he shortened his stride to keep pace with Shireen as they climbed. She reported the few things that had occurred since her last letter, and father nodded along, attentive to every word. Father then did the same, reporting on the journey south and his quick stop over to address the Small Council. Although Father did not tell her specifics, anything at all was still probably more than Uncle Robert would’ve liked her to know. (Father did not believe in lying to children. If you were not clever or trustworthy enough for the truth, he told you so. Even when that truth was that Shireen’s King and Uncle had apparently offended one of the great houses so much that there would be no forgiveness while he sat on the throne, only tolerance. Father offered no specifics about what Uncle had done, and Shireen did not ask.)

They made their way to the small dining room off the kitchen where Lady Marya and the boys were putting out breakfast. While Ser Davos swept up his sons and kissed his wife, Father ushered Shireen into the chair beside him and withdrew an envelope from his doublet **.** He paused with it in his hand and for a moment Shireen was terrified her father had brought back a marriage offer from one of the sons of Winterfell. His quiet declaration that, “This is a letter from Lady Joanna Snow,” could not have been a greater surprise. He set the letter on the table between them and pushed it to Shireen before immediately turning to his plate.

He determinedly did not watch her unfold the missive, and Shireen pretended not to notice.

> “Lady Baratheon,
> 
> “I confess, I’m not quite sure how to begin this letter. The only people I ever write are my siblings, and long practice means I know precisely what information each of them longs to hear when they are off visiting. With you, I believe I shall start with honesty and the hope that no child of Lord Stannis would be offended by bluntness.
> 
> “First, introductions: I am Joanna Snow, the second child of Lord Stark and the Bastard of Winterfell. Your father recently came North on a matter for the Crown, which I assume you know from the letters he diligently wrote you while in our company. Upon my first introduction to your father, he found me training with my elder brother Robb in the yard. While I thought I was doing rather well, your father disagreed. Vehemently. And now the blunt truth: I spent the rest of Lord Stannis’ visit to Winterfell badgering him to teach me some of the skills he thought I ought to have already known. I cannot keep quiet while I fight -- a distraction that Lord Stannis foolishly told me I ought to attempt to use to my advantage since I pestered him into answering my questions on a great many subjects. One that he kept returning to was you. Your father spoke of you so often and so fondly that I decided I would like to get to know you better.
> 
> “However, having been the recipient of my own unasked-for letters from strangers, know that I have no desire to make you uncomfortable. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to the Lady of Dragonstone and I have no desire to make matters any more complicated for you. If you choose not to correspond, I will take no offense.
> 
> “But even if you do not, know how warmly your father speaks of you and in what high regard he holds you. I imagine that there are few people in the world who Stannis Baratheon praises for anything, least of all their sense, and I wanted you to know that you hold the high place of being one of them.
> 
> “With fond regard,
> 
> “Lady Joanna Snow."

The lady was right. Her father was more one to show affection than to speak it, but it was an exceptionally pleasant thing to hear.

“Do you find the letter satisfactory?”

Her father interrupted her musings and sounded so hesitant that Ser Davos buried his smile behind his coffee. They both knew what her father was really asking. ‘Did you like her? Did I find you a friend?’

“Very much so.” Shireen surprised herself by how much she meant it. “If you do not mind my missing breakfast, Father, I believe I will reply to Lady Joanna immediately.”

Her father unstiffened, which for him was as good as a sag in relief. “It is no trouble. I will join Ser Davos in his review of the ships to be certain they are prepared for winter.”

“Should I join you?”

“No,” her father said, as though he wasn’t usually thrilled by her interest in ships. “Feel free to conduct your correspondence.” Shireen rose, and in a fit of impetuousness she kissed the bald crown of his head before nearly skipping from the room.

* * *

“But I don’t want to waste my morning trying to stitch, mother! I’m no good at it and I never will be!”

“You can’t be good at something you haven’t practiced, Arya.”

Arya looked to the rest of the table to defend her, but despite the sympathetic expressions of her brothers, no one was going to interfere. The men because they weren’t fool enough to interfere with Lady Stark, and Sansa and Jo because they both agreed that Arya needed to have women’s skill. Arya could claim hatred of everything called ladylike, but proficiency in _something_ would protect her from all manner of the world’s cruelty. And so, Lady Stark would wind her way through all manner of skills until she found something at which Arya could at least feign competency, no matter how much she whined over the breakfast table.

While Arya mounted the same objections, Maester Luwin hovered at the door. Desperate for some relief from the argument, Father waived him in. The old man paused, then went to Lord Stark and whispered in his ear. The behavior was so strange that everyone stopped their conversations and waited to find out what had him sneaking about so early in the morning. Father raised his eyebrows and took the letter the Maester held just barely out the end of his sleeve. Father flipped it over to examine the seal before he announced, “Jo, you have a letter from Dragonstone.”

“What?” Robb croaked.

“Oh!” Jo sprang out of her seat, ignoring her brother’s misplaced panic. “Lady Shireen wrote me back!”

“You wrote to Lady Shireen?” Her Father sighed and relinquished the letter with no more hesitation.

“Yes. From the things Lord Stannis said she seemed like she could use a friend. I sent her a letter with him to get his approval and she’s written back already.” Jo explained as she traced her thumb over the clear seal of a stag’s head. The letter was thick, certainly more than the paragraph she expected if Lady Shireen had been declining her offer of correspondence.

“Father?”

Lord Stark rolled his eyes but nodded her towards the door. “Go.”

She dropped a kiss to his cheek and left the breakfast table, calling back that she would when Lady Stark told her to offer their family’s hellos as well. Arya had a whole new subject to complain about, asking why her sister was writing to this Shireen. Joanna made a mental note to reassure Arya that no new friend could replace a little sister, no matter that Arya and Lady Shireen were the same age. Joanna waited until she reached her room to open the letter, not for privacy, but to lay it flat and use one of her knives to open it without cracking that fine seal.

> “Dear Lady Joanna,
> 
> "I would be pleased to begin a correspondence with you. I take it as a sign of my father’s good opinion of you that he gave me your letter at all, and though he would deny it, I trust his opinion on the matter of friends the same way I trust his opinion on almost all other matters.
> 
> “So as to not begin our relationship on a lie, I must confess to you that the only bastard I know of through title alone is Nightsong. Though, occasionally I have heard my cousin Edric referred to as the Bastard of Storms End, but only rarely considering he travels back and forth between Uncle Renly’s house and ours, and to name him after either castle would imply that he was either of their children rather than Uncle Robert’s. Needless to say, I’m afraid I had to look you up since your name is not quite so well known south of the Neck. That is not to say that your name must be well known north of the Neck.
> 
> “Oh, bother.
> 
> “I want to dispose of this letter and begin again, but father says if you do not know what you intend to say you should not put quill to paper in the first place. I know he wouldn’t know or scold me if I disposed of this parchment, but _I_ would know and it is a skill I am trying to develop, to be as sure in my words as he is.
> 
> “Though, now I have declared my intention not only to write but to continue this letter, I realize that I have nothing in particular to add. Father arrived from King’s Landing late this morning. I met him at Dragonstone’s harbor and walked with him up the stairs to the castle. I joined him for breakfast, where he handed me your letter and now I am writing to you. Not the most eventful of days or of paragraphs, but the only people I correspond with on matters of pleasantries with any degree of regularity are my cousins, Myrcella and Tommen. We have been writing to one another so long that I cannot recall how it began, and I confess that I would feel silly sharing the same topics of conversation with a woman grown as I do with my young cousins.
> 
> “With that, I will finish my letter and get it on its way before I have a chance to regret my ramblings too much and have to begin all over again. I worry that if I start over once, I will do so over and over again and never send you anything.
> 
> “Regards,
> 
> “Lady Shireen Baratheon."

Joanna finished the letter with giggles and went immediately to her desk. She had not thought much about what she might send to Lady Shireen once the introductions were out of the way, but she suspected that Lady Shireen was the sort of correspondent who would count the days before she could reasonably expect a reply and each one delayed would be one she would wonder if she had done something wrong.

It seemed to Joanna best to start with the members of her family so that Lady Shireen would know the players in all future letters. The first page she occupied with explaining her siblings and her desires to be her brother’s sworn sword. Then she set the letter aside and mulled for the rest on the morning on how she ought to explain to Shireen her motivations for not marrying. Jo did not want to begin their friendship on a lie, but she also did not want to explain to Shireen that she had cast aside any thoughts of matrimony because Shireen’s own uncle had tried to rape her.

After a full morning of thinking and consulting with Sansa – who had just as few ideas on how to handle the subject – Jo decided to ignore the explanation entirely and hope that the young lady didn’t ask.

Instead, she pressed straight on to explaining Winterfell and the list of potential sword tutors that her father was compiling. It was an endless dance between Lord Stark putting them on the list for their skill in combat and Robb striking them off for being too tall, or too handsome, or too Southern.

> “I am beginning to suspect that my father is not nearly so irritated by my brother’s editing as he pretends to be, because not a single name that Robb has removed from the list for whatever ridiculous reason has ever made it back on. Father claims that the height of Ser So-and-So is a perfectly legitimate objection since I’m so short, and Robb just nods along. Father has promised that he will do his best to find me a new sword instructor to suit my height and my ambitions, but at the rate the two of them are going, I will never be properly trained.
> 
> “That is not that I don’t believe them when they declare someone unsuitable for the task. But I believe the bar they have set for suitability is so high that it will never be reached. It is difficult to be irritated with them when I think of it in those terms: that they love me so dearly that they only want the best for me. Whether that best will ever exist remains to be seen.
> 
> “It is of little matter though. Your father pricked Ser Rodrick’s pride by declaring that he thought none of my father’s household guard would ever have the courage to attack me with the kind of vigor they would show a real trainee. Since then he has been doing remarkably well in my training. With a little luck and a considerable amount of effort on my part I might become a decent enough swordswoman to go looking for a teacher of my own.
> 
> “All my fond regards,
> 
> “Lady Joanna Snow.

* * *

> “Lady Joanna,
> 
> “While I do not understand the desire to become a knight, and I have many questions about how Northerners go about that process when you do not swear before the Seven – or will you for this title? – my first question is what has made you choose to be your brother’s sworn sword at all? I asked father if your swordplay is a thing to be encouraged and he said you were quite skilled, so at the very least you are not wasting your time. But father says a good husband should always encourage his wife’s individual talents if he wishes to have a happy marriage, so it seems to me that it would be more practical to _marry_ your brother’s sworn sword and together protect Lord Robb than it would be to engage in such a thankless task on your own.
> 
> “Rather than leaping to my conclusion about your motivations, I will lay out my thoughts in the hope that my conclusion will be less offensive.
> 
> “I can only assume that my father and your entire family have expressed a similar opinion on the value of marriage to you, and yet, you persist. Which means that your desire to be a knight must come from some place other than simple desire to remain with your brother and protect him. Given my own experience, the people I have no desire to associate with are those who have hurt me already. I am stuck sharing pleasantries with noble women who snicker and call me stone face where my father cannot hear, but for all I endure their snickers because I must, I will not bind myself to them or their families unless the need is dire. May I safely assume that the matter is similar for you? That you have no desire to take the easy road to your goal by simply marrying another Northern swordsman who is loyal to your brother because they have done something more offensive than snicker? (Though it cannot be about your face. Even father called you quite pleasing and he is usually sprase with such praise.)”

Reading the letter in Winterfell, Joanna forced herself not to blush. Before the end of this letter Shireen Baratheon was going to logic her way into precisely what Joanna had tried not to tell her, and that was far more important that Stannis Baratheon’s no doubt begrudging praise of her features.

> “I can only imagine that something terrible happened, for already I think you too practical to have such a reaction over something small. I will not guess about them, because despite my curiosity, the thought of someone guessing all the different names that I have been called would perhaps be worse than hearing them in the first place because they would come from the mouth of a friend.
> 
> “I promise I will quickly move on to other subjects, but before I do, I wanted to say that I’m sorry. Father says we shouldn’t apologize for mistakes that are not our own, but in the slim possibility that someone else has not told you so: I apologize for whatever happened. Whatever cruelty it was that made you want to follow the sword instead of some easier path, I’m sorry.
> 
> “As for you questions about the people who reside here at Dragonstone, they are not many. I am told that the occupation of Dragonstone was never plentiful. It is a relatively small castle and we have so few people coming and going, and so few members of our family that many servants are not necessary. There were more residents here, but almost the entire castle emptied when father refused to send me away when I had Greyscale. The numbers have never recovered.
> 
> “Maester Cressen is my most constant companion and has been my father’s Maester since he was a boy. He came with father from Storm’s End to Dragonstone, and not a day goes by that I am not glad he did. Lady Marya Seaworth is our chatelaine, and she has two cooks and several maids to help her with her tasks. The Seaworths are of Cape Wrath, but I cannot recall a time when they haven’t been with us at Dragonstone. Lady Marya and her four youngest sons – Maric, Devan, Stannis, and Steffon – are always in residence, while Ser Davos and the oldest boys – Dale, Allard, and Matthos – are a part of the fleet. (Matthos is an oarsman, Allard is a first mate, and Davan is captain of his own vessel, the _Wraith_.) Father and I would be entirely lost without the company of the Seaworths, and I am more grateful for them than words can say.
> 
> “Why, just a few days ago Lord Trant came from King’s Landing to deliver some message to father. I do not know if Uncle Robert continues to send Lord Trant to deliver his messages because he doesn’t realize that the man is in and out of Dragonstone so quickly because father despises him, or if Uncle Robert is just content with how quickly Lord Trant returns. No matter the cause, father despises the man, and Lord Trant equally does not like father. However, for all there is dislike, that is no cause for being ungracious hosts to the King’s emissary, and so I see to it that the man is fed while father responds to whatever information Uncle Robert deemed impermissible to send through regular channels.
> 
> “This time in particular, Lord Trant called me… well, I need not repeat it, but it was foul. Before Lady Marya could make it across the room to smack Lord Trant with the frying pan, Maris grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him our the door. The Lord of the realm looked not unlike the cats that I sometimes see on father’s ships, and apparently he would’ve been drowned like one if father hadn’t come out to see what the shouting was about. The Seaworth brothers do things like that for me all the time, always defending me from the cruelty of others. In truth, they have to do it far more often than anyone should, especially when we live alone on an island with so few visitors.
> 
> “Well, this entire letter has been rather depressing, has it not? Next time I will discuss happy things, I promise.
> 
> “Shireen Baratheon."

* * *

> “Dear Shireen,
> 
> “I understand completely.
> 
> “No, that is not quite true, is it? I wonder if any of us can ever understand another completely, but I believe my understanding of the situation is perhaps closer than most. A bastard is an entirely different matter than a trueborn daughter and an heir to boot, but I am familiar with the pain of being spoken of in less than whispers by those who think me inferior. And I confess, for many a year it gnawed at me. I always thought when I was a child that it would get better as I grew older, as I knew myself more and grew into an individual rather than Lord Starks bastard child. But instead, it grew worse.
> 
> “Recently I have been reminded of one of the most poignant times this occurred. Arya’s name day was this last week, and though I try not to be melancholy upon my siblings’ name days, sometimes I find that I cannot help myself and must pretend good humor until I truly feel it. A secret for you, Lady Shireen: I do not know the true date of my birth. In a month I will celebrate my name day. That day is not the one I came into the world, but the one that my father brought me home to Winterfell. I am not sure if he does not know when I was born, or if he does not wish to say. I am less troubled by this lack of knowledge then I once was, but on my siblings’ name days, when their existence is celebrated with gifts and parties marking the very day they entered the world while I do not know my own for certain, it can trouble me. And trouble me it did terribly until Arya’s name day several years ago.
> 
> “There were serving girls preparing for the party, and I caught them in the hall scoffing at me and making no attempt to lower their voices. I blushed and ducked my head, ready to run from the hall. Then one of them said something and the only words I caught were my own name and Stark. They were not calling me Joanna Stark, of course, but the words ran together so that I heard my name spoken thus. I heard it for the first time in my life neither from my own voice nor in the dead of night as I dreamt of my legitimacy: Joanna Stark.
> 
> “It was as though the world froze. The moment extended out before me and I felt my heart beat in time with the words: Joanna Stark. The girls did not think of me that, but it was what I was, was it not? My father was a Stark, and for all that Westeros will not grant me his name, a Stark is what I am. I have the look of it more than any of his trueborn children, even Arya, who is the most Stark in temperament of any of us. The world may call me a Snow, but I am a Stark. That night I stuck out my chin and walked past them. I said not a word, but in my head I repeated to myself that I am Joanna Stark and I would not allow such petty creatures to take that from me. _They_ are not a Stark, so why should I let them dilute my Wolf’s blood?"
> 
> “It is not the same matter, I know, especially when you have people sitting at your own table and sent to your own house by your own Uncle. But that thought has helped me over the years, no matter who is speaking ill of me. I remind myself that I am a Stark, and their words, no matter how cruel, will never make that untrue. I hope that a similar thought might carry you through.
> 
> “Your friend,
> 
> “Joanna Snow."


	2. Chapter 2

“Father, Lady Joanna will be celebrating her name day in a month.”

He did not look up from the paperwork on his desk. “Have you been discussing her plans?”

“Not as such. It was Lady Arya’s name day in Joanna’s last letter and I asked her when her own was. Lady Joanna informed me in confidence that her father has never told her name day specifically.” At that, her father looked up. “She’s not even sure if he knows. Instead, she has always celebrated her name day as the day Lord Stark returned with her to Winterfell.”

That seemed unfair to Stannis, both to Joanna and to Lady Stark. No good could come from celebrating the day Stark brought a bastard child home to his young wife and it could not be helping matters between Joanna and her stepmother.

“I presume that will not affect your decision to send her something for the name day as it is celebrated.”

“No, it will not. It is simply an interesting bit of trivia for the situation.” Shireen sat there in silence, staring at her father and obviously expecting something more from him.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. Since you have spent more time with Lady Joanna than I have, I wanted to know if you had any notion about what I might get her for a present.”

“I imagine that a heartfelt note would be sufficient, and reach Winterfell with enough time that you need not worry.”

“Father,” Shireen groaned and Stannis let her have the assumption that he was teasing. Apparently, letters were insufficient when it came to name days, a thing Stannis would keep in mind for Shireen’s own present.

“I have little experience in the matter, but I have been informed that woman tend to enjoy jewels of some sort.”

“Joanna does not strike me as the sort of lady who would appreciate such finery. Nor do I know where we would get such a thing.”

Stannis grimaced. “We would have to go King’s Landing, I imagine. Or perhaps we could examine the Targaryen finery still left here in Dragonstone and see if there is something suitable.”

“There are Targaryen jewels here?”

“Jewels and other materials in one of the sealed rooms. Your mother had no use for such things and whatever Cersei might have chosen, she was never given the choice. Robert would have not Targaryen artifacts in his castle.”

“I thought they took all the jewels with them when they fled?”

“Much of it I’m sure, but the Targaryens had too much here for one middle of the night flight. Princess Elia was here with her children before the Mad King summoned them back to King’s Landing. I imagine many of the jewels were here for her to take with them if they needed to flee.”

“Father,” Shireen hesitated. Her father valued honesty from her, but this would no doubt be a strange conversation. “Did we return all that could be identified as Princess Elia’s to her family?”

Stannis paused. Such a thought had never entered his head and he told Shireen so.

“I believe we should write Princes Doran and Oberyn on the subject, especially since they both have daughters who might like their aunt’s jewels.”

“You have as much a right to Targaryen jewels as they.”

Shireen reached over the desk and laid her small hand on his. “I know, father. It’s not a matter of believing that I don’t, and if there is something from your grandmother that you might like me to have then I will certainly keep it. But, if there was something of yours lost to someone else’s castle, I would want it to remember you by.”

“I am not your sibling, I’m your father.”

“I don’t have any siblings to compare it to.” Shireen let the thought wait in the silence, knowing full well that her father preferred the opportunity to mull before proceeding to another topic of conversation. He did not comment on her suggestion, but he did scribble something on the parchment he kept in the bottom corner of his desk that he used to keep track of the things he needed to do on any given day.

“We were discussing your intentions to send Lady Joanna a name day present. It must be something we already have on hand and relatively small in order to make it there before the actual day itself. I assume that is a concern?”

“Of course. Late name day presents always seem like an afterthought, even when they are not.”

“And you deem it insufficient to simply send her a nice note?”

“Yes, father.” Shireen did not roll her eyes at him.

“Shall we simply go look at various jewels that I am certain were not the property of Princess Elia?”

“Do you think Lady Joanna would like jewels for her name day?” Shireen did not, and her father’s silence suggested that he did not either.

“Perhaps Lady Joanna might appreciate the notion of receiving something so traditional when every other aspect of her name day is inferior to her trueborn siblings.”

“But would a generic present not have precisely the same lackluster meaning?”

“That is a valid point. But I do not know if either one of us has enough information or enough talent to find her a present from amongst our pre-existing effects to make the present have the kind of meaning you would like to convey. And so, I return to a note as your best option.”

“I intend to send her warm birthday greetings in my letter, and if it absolutely must be, that will have to be sufficient. But I would like a note to be what I send after I have exhausted all other options, not because it was a first choice. It would be foolish to send her a sword, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. She has a fine weapon already. Her scabbard is of the same quality and any armor should be done when she is there to be properly fitted for it.”

“Do we have any other weapons that we might send her? She hasn’t mentioned anything about shooting, so perhaps some daggers?” Shireen’s knowledge about the wide variety of weapons was perfunctory at best, but Stannis paused at the mention of knives.

“She does have a boot dagger and I advised her to invest in another of those and other knives daggers to hide about her person. However,” Stannis stopped Shireen before she could get too excited, “the problem with those is the same. We have knives in the armory here, but for a person of such a slight frame, it is better to measure the daggers and be sure they are the right length and thickness for her person. You don’t want to send her weapons that won’t do her any good.”

Shireen slouched back against her chair with a sigh. Already she was contemplating jewelry options, though Stannis knew that after examining everything in the vault Shireen would decide nothing there was suitable for her new friend. Oh, the pieces were fine enough, but Shireen wouldn’t want Lady Joanna to feel as though the present was an afterthought. Stannis ran through his mental catalog of weaponry and tried to summon up the image of something that would suit Lady Joanna, perhaps a blade that could sit on her hip instead of one of the subtle daggers sheathed among her clothes that he had recommended. He didn’t like the idea since some part of Stannis knew that whatever they sent, Lady Joanna would make sure she used. He did not want to cripple her defense with something unsuitable.

Before he cast the entire idea aside, Stannis paused at a faint memory of his mother. He raised a hand to stop Shireen from speaking as he closed his eyes and asked himself about the likelihood of such a thing being in Dragonstone. He had a moment’s silent cursing that he knew precisely where they would be in Storm’s End. He put that old irritation aside and strode out into the hall, waiving Shireen along behind him.

The jewels of Dragonstone were kept behind the same locked door where they had been when Stannis took the castle. Selyse had deemed herself too good to wear Targaryen gems so Stannis had never offered, and Shireen did not have the disposition for them. This meant the chests of finery were covered in a fine layer of dust, and Stannis had to open and rifle through several before he discerned a pattern. Tucked away in the back of the room and stored among various combs and clips was a set of quill-thin daggers of various lengths, some with sculpted metal on the end so they could be mistaken for ornaments, and others blunted so they would invisible entirely.

They were better than Stannis anticipated, and he handed them over to Shireen for her inspection. “Do you think these might meet your criteria?”

Shireen unfurled the leather case that held them and examined each dagger one by one, her lack of experience with weapons only slowing her down slightly as she pieced together what they might be. “I think they’re perfect. What do you think?”

“I think they are as practical as I could've hoped and prettier than anything I would have commissioned.”

“Whose do you think they are?”

“Princess Elia did not carry such weapons and they are not of Dornish make. That means they must have belonged to a Targaryen at some point, though which one I couldn’t begin to guess. Though, it might be in your best interests to not mention to a Stark that their present likely came from a dragon.”

“Thank you, father.” Shireen leaned in and gave him a kiss. Then with an impish grin, she asked, “What are you going to get her, father?”

“I am not allowed to share in your present to Lady Joanna?”

“No.”

Stannis hummed as he shut and locked the chest and led Shireen out of the room. “I suppose I will have to write her a nice note.”

“Father,” Shireen scolded.

“I promise, it will be a last resort. The only gift I can think of if you refuse to share your present would involve your Uncle Renly. And one never knows what he will find acceptable.”

“I’m sure if you tell him you want a present for your friend that Uncle Renly will be more than happy to help.”

Stannis snorted. “He’ll ask me why I want someone to come and visit Ser Davos, then.”

“You could tell him that we’ve made a new friend?”

“I don’t think Renly would believe us.”

* * *

“Lady Joanna,

“If everything goes to plan, your name day present should arrive before the celebration. I have done my best to be sure that it will get there in time, but father’s present is taking longer than I would like. Under other circumstances, I simply would have sent the present to you with this letter to be positive of its early arrival, but I do believe you will so greatly appreciate father’s present that I do not want him to hesitate about the difficulty of obtaining it.

“Not that it _has_ been difficult, or that you should worry about that! The only complication is that father has actually had to communicate with Uncle Renly in order to get your gift, and I am not sure if letters to Uncle Renly really take father as long to write as he says they do.

“I imagine that you will object to my sending you a name day present, but I want you to know that I object to your objection. Father is of the opinion that a person does not need many friends, only a few of very high quality. Specifically, I believe that before you Father would only regard Ser Davos and Lady Marya as friends.

“Oh, I just realized, I don’t know if that story made its way to the North. You see, during Uncle Robert’s Rebellion, Storm’s End was besieged by the Tyrell army the royal fleet. Father held Storm’s End through the siege, but he has told me that at the end they were eating rats and shoe leather to survive. (Did you know, I asked Uncle Renly once what he remembered about the siege and he told me that he didn’t remember it being terrible. When I ask, father only says that he did what he ought, but I believe that he sacrificed his own food to keep Uncle Renly from going hungry.) Only one vessel made it through the navy, a smuggler’s ship carrying nothing but onions. The food was enough to keep the people of Storm’s End alive long enough for your father to drive the Tyrell’s away. The smuggler who saved them all was Ser Davos.

“You know father, and of course, smuggling must be punished, even when it is used to save father’s own people. He cut off the fingertips of Ser Davos’ left hand as punishment, and then knighted him and gave him Cape Wrath for saving Storm’s End from starvation. After all that, Ser Davos stayed. He has been father’s closest companion ever since, and father says that there is no one in the world whose counsel he trusts as much. Father says he doesn’t need a dozen simpering bannermen when he has one Ser Davos at his side.

“You have not subverted a siege to keep my family fed, Joanna Snow, but after these few letters you have proven to be one of the truest friends I ever have had in my life. I know you better than I anyone whose name is not Seaworth and I want to show you such on your name day. On this name day in particular, when your brother’s day brought you into my father’s life and thus into mine, and your little sister’s name day gave me perhaps the greatest piece of advice that I have ever received.

“Also, I must tell you that recently Ser Davos asked father why he has gotten so much better at accepting compliments. Wonder of wonders, Father admitted that you had lectured him about it so stridently that despite a lifetime of being told the same by Maester Cressen, this time Father listened. I bid you heed the same advice you’ve given my father and accept the compliment, even though it comes in the form of a present.

“Fondly,

“Lady Shireen Baratheon.

* * *

“Lady Shireen:

“How can I object to anything when it comes with such fondness? I want to say that name day presents are unnecessary and I would never expect one, and while that is true, I confess to being rather excited at the prospect of a present from someone who is not family.

“And in truth, I am more excited than I ought to be to see what Stannis Baratheon considers a fit gift. Or rather, what you would consider so fine a present that you would delay your own gift so he might send his along as well. I am certain that yours will be splendid, for you already know me so well that it could not be anything but perfect, but I cannot help but giggle at the thought of what your father will send along.

“(Perhaps… don’t tell him about that part. Or if you like, tell him after the present is sent when you have a need to tease him.)

“Thank you for telling me about your father and Ser Davos. I have heard father mention The Onion Knight before, lecturing some of the boys in the yard that the value in a knight is not always in the sword but in the mind and the heart. Often boys in the North have a passing fancy for the idea of becoming a knight, happy to think of it until they remember that they must swear before the Seven if they really want to be a Ser. Though I think more than a few believe that they will be able to become a knight like Ser Jorah Mormont did – though hopefully without his eventual disgrace. Ser Jorah was knighted for services to the crown without the requirement of actually standing in a Sept and swearing his oaths, though it is claimed that High Septon confirmed the King’s declaration. I believe that is the kind of loophole to the problem that most young men of the North find acceptable.

“As for me, since I cannot be a knight at all, it is not a problem that I anticipate dealing with. Though I might someday be _called_ a knight, and I might appreciate the name, I will never actually be knighted. A sworn sword is close enough for me. Especially since no matter what I might be offered for the opportunity to become a knight, I cannot imagine a time when I would ever stand before the Seven and pledge anything.

“Do not mistake me, I do not hate the Seven and I do not judge those who worship them, but they are not my gods. I will never say never because my very existence is a testament to the truth that sometimes people do things that everyone else would deem impossible. However, I cannot imagine any situation in the world where I would turn my back on my own gods, even if it were just for the formality of accepting the High Septon’s blessing of my knighthood.

“That was certainly a more dour turn than I expected this letter to take. I began so excited for my name day present and here I am, deriding half the continent. I return to the beginning and tell you how much I am looking forward to whatever you have sent me and whenever it shall arrive. For no matter what and no matter when, it comes from a friend.

“Yours,

“Joanna Snow.


	3. Chapter 3

To say Joanna was looking forward to this particular name day was an understatement of dramatic proportions. The thought of whatever gift she had on the way from Shireen and Stannis should not have made her so excited, but that they were sending her anything more than vague congratulations for the day was so far beyond anything she could have hoped for. She was a grown woman and so tried not to keep herself up at night with dreams about what her presents might be, but she failed terribly. There was joy to be found in receiving presents from friends she’d made herself rather than from people using her to charm her father and brother. (And perhaps the thought of receiving gift from friends who so obviously disdained almost everyone else and yet went to such trouble for her was making matters even better.)

Jo began her name day with Arya bounding onto her bed and shaking her awake before the sun even rose. She spent the morning in training with Robb and the afternoon chasing around her siblings. As the day wore on and the post came and went, Jo chose to believe that her present from the Baratheons had been delivered already and her father was merely holding it until family dinner. When that came and her presents had all been bestowed with not a word from Shireen or Stannis in sight, Jo unleashed a long sigh and chose to think about it tomorrow. No doubt Shireen had done her utmost to get the present there on time, but Jo wasn’t going to let the disappointment that Shireen hadn’t succeeded spoil her evening. If Shireen said it would come, it would come, and Joanna would be happy to brush over any delay.

Sansa had made a Jo a cloak meant to look like their father’s, while Rickon had drawn her a picture of he and Jo with Ghost and Shaggydog. Robb’s present was as it always was, a quiet morning with just the two of them sat in front of the heart tree, side by side and hand in hand as they talked. The promises they made one another were always different, but no matter how old they grew, every year Robb ended by calling Jo his twin, swearing it before the Old Gods.

Bran had gifted her a book on the history of the Baratheon family and all the Stormlands Bannermen, as well as a smaller tome on the Targaryen loyalists that owed their oaths to Dragonstone. Joanna had blushed ten different shades of red and then stuttered out her thanks. Bran just shrugged like he had no idea why he thought it was the right present and no desire to tease, and Jo was grateful. She’d gone immediately to her room and tucked the books away without thinking too hard about what Bran might have seen.

Arya had been their father’s counsel about the right design for Jo’s daggers, and now was draped over Joanna’s shoulder, examining the blades that were meant to be tucked away in her boots and at her waist. Which, of course, was the moment Joanna’s present arrived.

The castellan stepped through the door and went to immediately shut it behind him, as though that was less distracting than stepping through the door as he regularly did, or some servant bringing more to drink or another plate of food that the family didn’t need. Sneaking, however, was less distracting than the obscenely handsome young man who took advantage of the open door and strode in as though he’d been invited. The castellan scrambled after him and it was all he could do to announce, “Lord Stark, may I present Ser Edric Storm,” before the man swept into a bow before the family.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark, it is an honor to meet you.”

The whole family was stunned, though perhaps no one more than Father, who had gone pale at the sight of the knight before him. “You’re…” He croaked.

“Ser Edric Storm, Squire to Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm’s End, Nephew to Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, and as you are probably most familiar with me, Lord Stark: King Robert’s only acknowledged bastard.”

Nearly the whole table flinched at the word, though Joanna was rather more concerned with bundle of fabric the knight had tucked under his arm. As it was, Ser Edric looked to Joanna and gave her a grin at a word that no one but them would understand.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Edric,” her father managed to get out, no matter how uncomfortable he obviously was. “We are in the middle of a family dinner at the moment.”

“Yes! And all my felicitations to Lady Joanna.” He dipped into another bow. “I would not have interrupted your meal, but I am afraid that I swore to my cousin Shireen that I would have her present delivered to Lady Joanna by her name day. Between my late departure from Dragonstone, storms on the Narrow Sea, and my own horse throwing a shoe, I have arrived just in time to keep my word to my darling cousin. I would hate to tell her that I had come so far as Winterfell only to fail for shyness sake. In truth, I believe Uncle Renly would tease me about it forever.”

Lord Stark gave no sign of approval, but Ser Edric took the lack of denial as good enough and with a very elegant bow placed the bundle atop the table before Joanna and laid a letter down beside it.

Jo snapped open the letter, making it as far as the first line that told her to open the present first. She re-folded the letter and followed its instructions, unwinding the strap binding the package together and unfolding it like an envelope. Jo’s breath caught in her chest and Arya asking what they were told her the present wasn’t a hallucination.

Tucked away like knitting needles were a set of seven hairpin daggers, one a comb, another a hair brooch with the blade meant to slip through and secure it, three standard pins of varying lengths, and two small pins with blunted ends that would disappear into her curls. They were all silver, no jewels, but finely molded into flowers. Jo ran a finger over the pointed end of one, blunt enough that it wouldn’t damage her if she threaded it through her hair the wrong way, but no so perfectly blunted as hairpins ought to be. If she chose to ram it into a man’s flesh it would do the job nicely.

Sansa leaned over Jo’s other shoulder, summoned by Arya as the source of all information on all girly things. “They’re hairpins, Arya.”

“They’re hairpin daggers,” Joanna murmured.

Of course, Arya reached out and poked the tip of one. “But they’re not sharp?”

“They still have to go in your hair, love. They won’t hurt me when I use them, but they would if I stabbed someone.”

“Lady Shireen sent you daggers?” Sansa sounded like she couldn’t decide if she was appalled or proud that the young Lady had chosen something so well suited to her sister. Arya busied herself with asking their father about particulars while Joanna went for her letter.

> “Dear Joanna,
> 
> “If haven’t opened your present yet, do that first.
> 
> “Now that you have, I wish you a happy name day. Father and I had a long discussion about which presents you would prefer and those that might reach you in time for your name day. I apologize that these were not crafted for you in particular, and that I cannot tell you for certain who they were originally intended for, but they seemed too perfect a present to worry about provenance.”

Shireen carried on for several more paragraphs, and Jo would have read all of them right there at the table were it not for her father’s strange tone when he said, “Jo, you have another present.”

In Father’s hand was a letter. It bore the same stag seal as Shireen’s, but no correspondence from Shireen Baratheon had ever made anyone in the world sound so concerned. “Father?”

“Ser Edric.” But the man’s name did not sound like a question, it was an explanation.

“Pardon?”

The young man looked tickled to be the one to step into the gap and explain. “You expressed to Lady Shireen that your father and brother were having difficulty finding a swordsman of sufficient stature and character to take part in your training. Lord Stannis thought I would fulfill both requirements. We are of a height, you and I, and I have been raised in company with Lord Stannis’ daughter and heir. I would be surprised if later on in that letter Lady Shireen did not vouch for my good character.”

She did. A proclamation of how much she adored her cousin and considered him one of her favorite people was buried in a paragraph where she extolled her father’s cleverness for thinking of Ser Edric.

“And your training?” Oh, Robb did not like this at all. Whether it was because someone else had solved their problem so neatly, that the problem had been solved with a Southerner, that the problem had been solved with one of Robert’s bastards, or that the problem had been solved with an obscenely handsome young man of marriageable age from a good family, only time would tell.

Despite the insult of his question and his tone, Ser Edric just smiled. “I squired for Lord Renly, after Lord Stannis said what I imagine were similar things to me as he said to Lady Joanna about my height. Lord Renly had the majority of my physical training with the sword, the bow, the joust, the daggers, and a few particularly failed experiments with a war hammer. Lord Stannis assumed my training in tactics and courtly subjects.”

“Stannis taught you courtly behavior?” Jo couldn’t help the question or the laugh in her voice.

She knew that was the moment Ser Edric decided he liked her. For a split second he looked surprised by the question and then a bright and beautiful grin that Joanna was determined to someday see on Lord Stannis broke across his face. “Courtly practicalities might be a better explanation, my Lady. Uncle Renly handled the charm. Since I was knighted, Ser Loras of High Garden and Lady Brienne of Tarth have been my primary sparring partners.” Ser Edric reached into his doublet and pulled out two more envelopes. “I have their testaments to my character and aptitude if you would like to read them.”

“Later.” Father declared. The castellan would get him a meal and show him to a room. Ser Edric had accomplished his task but their family meal was not yet ready to disband. Ser Edric pulled back out his charming smile and sank into a graceful bow, offering his thanks to them all for allowing him the interruption. “Now I can write back to Lady Shireen with a clear conscience.”

* * *

Lord Stark did not like Edric Storm and he felt petty about it.

Yes, he had heard all manner of good things about the boy, and though the letter from Ser Loras likely wasn’t worth the paper it was written on for all his claims about Ser Edric’s knightly behavior, Lady Brienne’s praise was far less flowery but struck Ned as honest. And certainly, Lord Stannis wouldn’t allow anyone to go about trading on his supposed approval if it wasn’t true. More likely than not, Stannis wouldn’t allow one of Robert’s children to spend time with his own girl if he wasn’t the best sort of young man.

But still, Ned didn’t like him.

“You can’t reject the boy just because you think he’s too pretty and charming to teach Joanna well, Ned.” Though Joanna was not Catelyn’s favorite subject in general, and certainly not in regards to her martial training, Ned’s dear wife had endured his complaints for the last hour.

“It’s not because he’s pretty!”

“Well, it can’t be because he’s wrong for the task or that you already had someone in mind. I know how diligently you and Robb have been looking for someone you trust to handle Jo’s training.”

“I’m sure he’s a fine swordsman, I just don’t want him teaching Jo!”

Catelyn reached out and grabbed Ned’s hand, dragging him down to sit beside her on the bed. Her husband’s eyes remained resolutely on his feet. “Ned, Lord Stannis rescued Joanna’s reputation. Now, he’s sent to Winterfell a handsome bastard raised by his own hand, the king’s own natural flesh, with the express purpose of spending time with Joanna.”

“I don’t like it!” Ned popped back to his feet. “Jo doesn’t want to get married! Lord Stannis shouldn’t be sending her suitors!”

“Ned.” Catelyn took his hands again and brought him back down. Long experience had taught her that he never could listen when he was pacing. “I know Jo has said she doesn’t intend to wed, but you have to acknowledge that Stannis Baratheon, as strange as it is to say this, is perhaps Joanna’s favorite person in the Seven Kingdoms outside of her own family. I do not imagine that he would mistreat any young lady if he could help it, and that likelihood only grows smaller when you take into account how fond Lady Shireen is of Joanna, and how fond of her Lord Stannis himself seemed to be. He did not just restore Joanna’s good reputation, he listened to her about her desire to be Robb’s sworn sword and has sent her the means of becoming that with a knight he knows is well trained. If the Ser he sent to teach her happens to be handsome, well raised, arguably well bred, has no ties to the people who have been insulting her all these years, and is in the best position to understand what Joanna’s life as a bastard has been like and not judge her for it, then what’s the harm in that?”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“You’re right, it doesn’t mean anything for certain. But Lord Stannis has made Joanna a present of the highest born bastard in the Seven Kingdoms, a man who will no doubt be granted his own Lordship in the Stormlands before long.”

Ned couldn’t stay seated. “If she wanted to marry, a trueborn Northerner would have her!”

Catelyn followed him up and wrapped her arms around him to keep him still. “Oh, Ned. I tell you again that she wouldn’t have _them_. If there is anyone who would understand Joanna’s anger with the people who speak so ill of her for being a bastard and have no negative regard for her because of it, it would be another bastard. Lord Stannis has sent her one of so fine a birth and education and with such potential for his future that he could have all manner of trueborn daughters from any house outside of the greatest seven. Beyond that, Ned, he seems happy to train Jo in the sword. At first glance, the boy seems like he was made for Jo. Lord Baratheon deserves our thanks because if Joanna was to marry anyone, I believe Ser Edric would be it.”

“I don’t like it.”

Catelyn ran her hands through his hair. “I know dear.”

* * *

> “Dear Shireen,
> 
> “You are a star! I love my present! Sansa flinched when I explained to her what the daggers were for, but the pins are so beautiful that she said the thought of accidentally stabbing herself in the head with them might be worth it. Robb and Arya have been grumbling all night that they each thought their own presents were the best and now they cannot even pretend so. In case you have any doubts, Lady Stark herself insisted that I try a few of the pins on and she told me they looked striking against my hair. If Lady Stark can find something good about me to say because of the hairpins, they are perhaps the best present I have ever received in my life.”

Joanna narrated her name day, leaving out all the worries she’d had that Shireen’s present might not come and focused on the great surprise it had been when Ser Edric delivered her post. She paid Ser Edric all the compliments she reasonably could after knowing the man for a morning on the assumption that Shireen would be as anxious to hear well of Ser Edric as Jo would have been if it were Robb.

Written at the bottom of the note, not hidden, not smaller, not tucked away, Joanna included:

> “Lord Stannis,
> 
> “Words cannot convey how grateful I am for the presence of Ser Edric. It has only been a morning so I am not as informed about him as I’m sure I will be in the future, but father and Robb both spent a large part of the morning running Ser Edric through his paces before they would let him cross a sword with me, and he did wonderfully. Not simply in the way they fought against one another, but in how he retained his calm when Robb got perilously close to losing his temper and when he faced down The Lord of the North wielding Ice. Ser Edric still lost to father, but he rather seemed to enjoy the defeat. That graciousness, plus his willingness to go full strength against the Lord of one of the great houses, was enough to convince Father that Ser Edric was good enough to remain.
> 
> “I knew he would be exceptional because he came with your recommendation, but beyond sending me a talented Ser to help with my training, I am beyond grateful that you thought to send me anyone at all. When Shireen told me that you were sending me a second gift rather than just one between the two of you, I confess, I didn’t quite believe her. I did not expect a true present from you, let alone one that so perfectly suited me. I have never been so grateful to be wrong.
> 
> “Lady Joanna.”

* * *

“Lord Stannis,

I have safely arrived at Winterfell and delivered both Shireen’s package and your offer to Lord Stark. I will admit that the man seemed hesitant to accept my presence at first, though after inquiries on my part I have discovered that it was not because they had another swordsman in mind to teach Lady Joanna. Lord Stark watched our training this morning and I believe he is now confident in my abilities as a swordsman and the respect I will show his child.

“Ever loyal,

“Ser Edric Storm."

* * *

“Uncle Renly,

“You needn’t have worried. Whatever Uncle Stannis might have intended by sending me here, I’m not the one Lady Joanna is in love with.

“Edric.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Dear Joanna,

“I don’t have much to share with you in this letter, which is a disappointment after the excitement of our last few missives. Father has been constantly on the move between home, King’s Landing, and Storm’s End, seeing to the preparation of the fleet before the summer storms are fully upon us. All servicing, repairs, and construction must be done and the ships moved into their protected harbors before the weather changes. The storms will not arrive fully for about two more months, but father ardently believes that it is better to have all matters for the fleet settled significantly before the storm season so that there is time for things to go wrong and for storms to arrive early.

“Father says that his first several years as Master of Ships were focused on rebuilding the fleet after all the destruction in the great summer storm that allowed him to take Dragonstone. After that, it was a matter of retaking the shipping lanes and oceanic territories that once had been the jurisdiction of the Crown but were taken over by the other houses while the Crown’s navy recovered. He said that Uncle Robert was not particularly supportive of his efforts on that front and thought that since Lord Lannister’s fleet had remained untouched by the Rebellion that they ought remain the primary naval force of the Seven Kingdoms, and that perhaps Ser Kevan Lannister should be made the Master of Ships. (Father says that Uncle Robert just didn’t like the responsibility of a navy when he didn’t know what to do with one.) Whatever might have happened otherwise, the Greyjoy Rebellion solidified father’s position with the navy. The Lannister fleet was wiped out in one night, as I’m sure you know, and all father’s preparations that Uncle Robert had declared wasteful and dramatic were our defense.

“That is the rather long way of explaining that father is out taking care of his ships and is home for little more than a tide at a time. Ser Davos is with him, as always, but this year he took all his sons with him. Devan is with Dale on his vessel, the _Wraith_ ; young Stannis is with Allard on the _Lady_ _Marya_ , Mathos and Maric are each at their assignments on their own vessels, and Steffon is with Ser Davos and Father. Ser Davos says that it’s easier to make children comfortable on a ship than adults, and the boys have been asking for years to join him at sea. Lady Marya says it is a safe time of year for them to be out, and perhaps when the boys see the difficult slog of preparing ships instead of fanciful thoughts about exciting voyages maybe at least one of her sons might choose not to follow their father into the open water.

“This means that Lady Marya and I are often alone here at Dragonstone. We have Maester Cressen to keep us company, but Lady Marya is often occupied with matters of the castle and does not have much time to converse, or even just sit. In particular, she sees to the ships that are here to rest and listens to their gossip. Though he is not here for long, Father makes a point of returning to our island at least once a week so that he can check on us and be informed about all the things Lady Marya has discovered.

“Maester Cressen is my most constant companion, and though I adore the Maester as I am told other people adore grandparents, he is growing old and requires far more sleep and quiet than he did when I was young. Needless to say, I have spent my days reading and attempting to learn from Lady Marya what skills she might be able to teach me.

“Affectionately,

“Lady Shireen Baratheon.”

* * *

“Lady Joanna:

“I apologize for infringing upon your letter to Shireen. However, I deemed it necessary to inform you that, before I sent Edric to you, I gave him explicit instructions that he is to be on his best behavior. His best behavior is truly the best sort of behavior. Should Edric behave in a slovenly or disrespectful manner, do not excuse it. Edric was raised by Lords and I expect the best of him at all times and in all circumstances. If Edric ever does anything less, inform me and I will see to it that he apologizes before replacing him with another knight of my acquaintance.

“I asked Shireen to include my request to you as part of her letter, but she refused and is rather insulted with me for even entertaining the thought that her cousin might be anything less than perfect. Once again, I apologize for infringing upon your letter, but it needed to be said.

“—Lord Stannis Baratheon.”

* * *

“Dear Shireen,

“This might be presumptuous of me, but I hope that everything is well with you? There was nothing _awry_ in your prior letter, but you seemed rather at loose ends considering a large portion of the missive discussed the weather. Make no mistake, I find the very concept of something like a storm season fascinating since we at Winterfell are so far inland as to have no trouble with the weather until the snow starts to fall. We do have periods of more rain, but hardly enough to constitute the storms that I imagine invade a section of the world with someplace named Storm’s End.

“I have been spending my days mostly with your Ser Edric, training in the sword and daggers, and scaring him with Ghost. I believe I’ve mentioned this before, but if I have not, I have a pet direwolf named Ghost. A few years ago Father and Robb came across a stag and a direwolf fighting one another in the woods. The creatures had injured one another, enough that the hunters were able to take down both animals. However, it was only after the direwolf was dead that the men realized she had been protecting her pups from the stag. Robb convinced father to let us keep them, one pup for each Stark child and a white runt for the Snow.

“In the years since, the wolves have grown incredibly. Lady Stark has insisted that they can remain neither in the castle nor in the Godswood. She was certain that we would have reports of dead livestock and maimed farmers, but the wolves have harmed nothing that wasn’t already wild. (Though, Sansa’s wolf, Lady, has protected a few women of Wintertown from licentious behavior.) Despite Lady Stark’s admonitions, for the most part the wolves come and go as they please, finding ways to slip into Winterfell at precisely those moments when we need them the most. Somehow, Ghost always knows. For the life of me I cannot figure out how he sneaks through thousand-year-old walls, but he does.

“Ghost has been sneaking in more and more as of late, and since Ser Edric arrived he has been watching the knight like a hawk. It is a responsibility Ghost shares with Grey Wind **,** Robb’s wolf. I do not know if the direwolves are doing it to calm Robb’s temper of the subject of someone else teaching me the sword or if they simply like to watch Ser Edric squirm. (The other house guards all pretend like they are unmoved by the sight of a massive direwolf watching us spar, but any time Ghost gets too close to any of them, they all panic just the same, which is its own source of amusement.)

“I leave you with that thought: my great white wolf popping up beside your fearless swordsman of a cousin, making him leap into the air and squeal like a pig. My days are not filled with excitement to share with you, but I hope that that might be enough to bring you a smile.

“—Joanna.”

* * *

“Lord Stannis,

“I don’t foresee any problems with Ser Edric, provided that Arya doesn’t kill him for his polite refusal to train her. Beyond that, he has nothing but the best to say about you and Shireen, and I believe him. Not only because I doubt you would keep someone around you and your child who feigned such emotions, but because his affection seems genuine.

“Beyond that, this may be vastly inappropriate thing to say and have no meaning to you, but I am proud of you for showing Ser Edric enough affection that he can speak of you with such love. We bastards tend to share our stories with one another and Ser Edric has achieved a feat that I have not. He can speak of how he came into the world with no shame. And though he has spoken with his mother not at all, he does not regret her or feel neglected. I would that someday I might be so unconcerned with the circumstances of my birth and more concerned with the place I occupy in the world instead. I have yet to speak to any other bastard with so unconcerned a view on their own parentage – at least, a bastard who is both unconcerned and honorable. Ser Edric seems certain of himself in a way that I did not think one of my fellow bastards could be and I must attribute that in no small part to your care and consideration. He has been raised well, with the kind of love that I am proud of you for showing him.

“On more important matters than my present – and to call him that is the surest way to make him miss a step when we are sparring, so thank you for that – I have a secret to tell you. If you do not think you can keep it then stop reading at this very moment, because if you betray this secret then I will require more than a trained knight to earn my forgiveness.

“Are you prepared? Well then, I believe that now that Ser Edric is in the North, Lady Shireen is lacking for company. She did not say so precisely in her last letter to me, and it is only in the letter that she currently has in her hands that I have had the chance to ask her, so I might be entirely wrong on this subject. There, now that I have sufficiently couched my terms so that you can be certain that I am not certain, I must tell you that I do not think I am wrong. And do not think of this as a judgment, for I know that you are at home as often as you can be while you have the fleet to prepare.

“It is only… Shireen is my friend. I would not want to be rewarded with company at the expense of my friend being harmed.

“Truly,

“Lady Joanna”

* * *

“Dear Joanna,

“For all that Edric has only been with us at Dragonstone part time, I confess that I miss his presence dearly. He is lively in the way of Uncle Renly, though he does not need so much company as my Uncle. He is like father in that regard. Edric is full of life and conviviality, in the way that I am told that Uncle Robert used to be before he was consumed with the burdens of being king.

“Edric has probably told you this, but despite being officially the squire to Uncle Renly and knighted by him, Edric was shared between my uncle and my father. Given the tension between Father and Uncle Renly every time they speak, I am not entirely sure how they keep coming to an agreement about which of them Edric should be with. I do not know if they negotiate a schedule once a year, or if they simply know precisely which experience would be best for him to learn from, because I do not think that Edric would be so forward as to tell father or Uncle Renly where he thinks he ought to go. For though I love both my father and my uncle dearly, neither of them would respond well to such statements.

“This means that while Edric would often lay over at Dragonstone for several days at a time, he would be off with father and Uncle Renly for all the time in between. He was here for only a night before he went North, which was a rare scarcity of time.

“It should not make so much a difference to me to having him in the North instead of with father on the sea or Uncle Renly wherever he might be at the moment, but I admit to you that it is. I want to say that it is merely a matter of not having any of my usual company while he is so far and so permanently away, but that would be a lie. I can admit to myself that the sadness might have something to do with being bothered that people I love so dearly are far away together.

“No, bothered is not the right word for it. I admit, I am lonely. I ought not to be, but I am. I should ramble for pages more so I can pretend I am speaking to you instead of sitting here alone, but now I find I am too melancholy.

“—Shireen.”

* * *

“Lady Joanna:

“As you have scolded me thoroughly on the subject of my ingratitude, first I thank you for thinking so well of me. However, you have vastly overestimated the influence I have played in Ser Edric’s life. Though I had jurisdiction over Edric in his formative years, much of the care of his early youth was given over to Maester Cressen. Then when Renly was deemed old enough, I largely turned Ser Edric over to him. It is Renly who raised Edric, who trained him, and who knighted him. I imagine that if he had spent time in my care you would find him a far less agreeable young man.

“I believe that Shireen must often be lacking for company, isolated at Dragonstone as we are. There are few individuals who ever spend their time with us on the drafty island we call home. I imagine that Shireen has told you already, but the weather is still well enough at sea that Lady Seaworth has granted permission to Ser Davos to allow all her sons join their father on his ships. This has left Shireen with no youth for company, which I suppose must be its own variety of difficult.

“Do not fear, I respected your request for privacy on this matter and did not ask Shireen outright about how she is currently dealing with the isolation. I asked Lady Marya instead. She agreed completely with your evaluation of the situation. Lady Marya had a recommendation about how I might alleviate Shireen’s isolation. I do not like the recommendation, but it is currently the only option that will not lead to dejected Seaworth children and Shireen’s upset that they were put out on her behalf. (You would be proud by how thoroughly Shireen has scolded me on not discomfiting the Seaworth children.) The matter should not improve by your next letter from Shireen, but by the one after. If it does not, Lady Marya has been instructed to inform me, though your warning would also be appreciated.

“—Stannis Baratheon”

* * *

“Oh, Shireen, I wish there was more I could do for you.

“Do not be upset with me, but I confess that I told your Father than I think you might be a bit lonely with all your company at sea. I told him that I have no right to issue invitations to Winterfell, but for you I would find a way. Though I confess, I do not know if storm seasons in your part of the world are be enough to keep a person home.

“Since I cannot come South and I do not know if you can come North, I imagine that the only thing I can offer you are stories and hope that they might make you feel less alone rather than more.”

Shireen had noticed that the letter was strangely thick, and now she could see why. Joanna had written her over a dozen letters to break up the long stretch of time it would take for another missive to reach her from Winterfell. She ought to wait and read the letters one at time, holding them for days when she felt alone or as a reward for doing something particularly good after a difficult day, but then the wind screamed against her window like a dying woman and all Shireen’s resolved vanished with the noise. She cracked her first seal and curled up under her blankets to read stories of the North.

* * *

“Lord Stannis:

“Forgive me if I do not believe your disavowals in the slightest. We bastards have a tone when we speak of those we endure instead of enjoy. Ser Edric did not have that tone.

“I know, you won’t consider tone to be evidence enough, so did you know, when Ser Edric is distracted he calls you Uncle Stannis? I can tell you with absolute certainty that never once in my life have I called Lady Arryn anything other than Lady Arryn. Do not be upset with him for the slip, it shows his affection for you. Wherever he might have lived or who might have trained him, Ser Edric adores both you and Lord Renly and you have had just much an influence on him.

“Since you have made it quite clear that you do not appreciate when I praise you or your good parenting, I will restrain myself to nothing more than a brief thank you on behalf of my friend for so quickly remedying the troubles she is facing. I would offer to have her come and see us at Winterfell, but I am afraid I lack the authority to invite anyone to my father’s house. Even if I did, I imagine that the storm season is too close for such travel. Despite my own deficiencies in this area, I am certain that you will find a solution.

“And moreso, thank you for keeping my confidence that I was the one who told you about her worries. I informed Shireen that I had mentioned it to you, for I think it would be better to have her disappointed in me for speaking than to have her discover later than I cannot be trusted. Also, I appreciate the confidence you displayed in my opinion on the matter. Isolation is not often an affliction that we suffer from here in Winterfell, between the number of people in the castle and my number of siblings. Loneliness, however, I understand. It is a pain that I would not want her to bear if it could be avoided and I am grateful for your intercession.

“—Joanna Snow”

* * *

“Joanna,

“Father wrote to Uncle Renly about us coming for a visit! I know that Father is secretly hoping that Uncle Renly will claim to be too busy to have us for company, but I am touched that Father asked at all. We go to Storm’s End once a year, just the two of us, usually when father says Uncle Renly is throwing a party too large that he cannot get away without seeming rude if he doesn’t invite us. I cannot think of a single time when father has ever asked if we might come for a visit rather than being forced into it to avoid gossip. Thank you, Jo. Whatever it was you said to him, thank you!

“I have a secret to tell you, one that you can do nothing about, no matter how kind your intentions might be as they were in this case. I confess to you this truth that I have shared with no one else in the world: I do not like Dragonstone. I like my rooms, and my father’s solar, and the rooms down by the docks where the Seaworths live, and Marya’s kitchen, and Maester Cressen’s rooms, but that is all. I know, it seems like much of the castle when I list off the places in such a way, but Dragonstone is so large that those safe harbors barely cover a tenth of it.

“I loathe the massive stone dragons that lurk outside, I am terrified by the skeletons in the basement, the windows rarely have glass between me and the crashing water below, the wind is always blowing so it is always cold, no matter how bright and beautiful the day. When I stare out to sea I feel like a witch from one of the old stories, cursed and exiled to some island for my misdeeds.

“It is better with the Seaworth boys here since they are always noisy and fearless. No dark can be where they dwell, and if it dared to approach them they would face it together. Edric, for all he is not here often, has smiles so bright that they drive the shadows away. And father, it is best when he is here. There is nothing to be afraid of in Dragonstone when its master is home. I do not know if the castle’s ghosts always responded to father this way, but now they run from him and the entire place is almost homey when he is here. Father would no doubt blush were I ever to call anything to do with him homey, but it is true. Through force of will alone he can drive away the dark.

“Without him, and without the presence of other life to make it bearable, Dragonstone feels like a tomb haunted by more spirits than just Queen Rhaella. Were it just physically dark and cold I could manage, but instead it feels as such to the heart. There are times when I am alone in a hall and I just want to scream to drive away the encroaching dark.

“Perhaps the worst part about my dislike of Dragonstone is that I cannot speak of it. Father does not like it here, and I do not want to add to his burden. He feels that being made master of Dragonstone was a slight against him and to know that I wish it were not our home would only much such a thing worse. I know there is nothing father can do about it. It is not as though he can abandon his keep or the home that was bestowed on him by the King. Uncle Robert would be quite upset, and if he were not, other members of the Small Council would make sure he was. It is our home now and I must better learn to bear it, but without other people here to help, Dragonstone is a burden on my shoulders so heavy that on this island I feel I can barely breathe.

“But we are going to Storm’s End! And I am more grateful to be away more than words can say.

“—Shireen”


	5. Chapter 5

“Dear Shireen,

“Since I do not know how quickly you meant to leave for Storm’s End, I send this short note by raven and wish you both well. I confess that I am surprised by your going there, but I hope your time there may be wonderful nonetheless!

“—Lady Joanna”

* * *

“Joanna,

“Just because were are in Storm’s End doesn’t mean we don’t want to write to you. If you were planning on using our trip to Storm’s End as an excuse to cease writing, my father’s pride says I ought to let you go, but my own disposition demands that I convince you that we do not need to part, even in this form. You have been too true a friend to me for me to let you go for anything less than a battle. (I confess, I read your packet of letters in one sitting the very night I received them. After such care, you will never be free of me.)

“As to why we have come to Storm’s End instead of anyplace else, it is because for all that Myrcella and Tommen are charming company, they come with the burden of King’s Landing. Father never has a moment’s peace when he is in the capital, and while he went to conduct his checks on the fleet he would have to leave me behind in that cesspool. Father doesn’t particularly like all the people who come and go at Storm’s End either, but it is better than helping to run a country and being worried I might be assassinated if he is away for too long.

“And I confess to you, no matter how distracted he might be with other matters, Uncle Renly cares for me excellently. I do not believe that Uncle Renly has ever thought as so many others do – even those in my family – that father should have just let me die rather go on disfigured as I am. There is a comfort in the certainty that he has never wished me dead.

“I imagine that you were wondering less about why not King’s Landing then you were wondering, why Storm’s End? I am told that it is rather well known in the Seven Kingdoms that father and Uncle Renly are not the best of friends. As to why that is, I believe it is because of the same reason why any other people in the world are not close. Father and Uncle Renly are simply two very different people. Father is quiet, Uncle Renly is loud. Father doesn’t like people, Uncle Renly always wants parties.

“I will tell you a secret though, I wish things between them were different. There are times when it is just Father and I with Uncle Renly, and Uncle Renly can make him _laugh_.

“Those times are rare, I admit, because there are few occasions when Uncle Renly is not surrounded by others. But when Father and Uncle have a chance to just sit in quiet together with nothing to argue over, Uncle Renly can make father smile better than even Ser Davos. I wish every time they were together that it was like that, Father laughing at the things Uncle Renly said and Uncle Renly leaning in to listen to Father’s stories and asking him for his advice. It happens almost never, but when it does, there is such peace. I think that Father and Uncle Renly were friends once, and I think sometimes Father is upset that they are not as they once were.

“Or perhaps I am simply wishing better for my father because he is here in Storm’s End while his best friend is off at sea and I am happy writing to my own.

“—Shireen”

* * *

“Lady Joanna,

“Though it is even more inappropriate to write to you when we are surrounded by gossips who will make meat of it, Shireen has insisted I write you because apparently my temper is short with her most beloved Uncle and Shireen doesn’t want us fighting. Why she thinks I ought to share such private details of our lives with you, I do not understand, but she is insistent.”

There was a splotch at the end of Lord Stannis last word, made from holding the quill above paper for too long. From the slightly too large space between this paragraph and the next, Joanna guessed that Lord Stannis had decided to have done with it and came back to his writing later.

“Shireen has told me that in one of her first letters she embarrassed herself by rambling because I had once told her that letters should not be erased and begun over because then they would never be sent. I have since had a clarifying conversation with her explaining that in certain, political instances it is better for a letter to be perfect than have the honesty of immediate writing, and if you have budgeted enough time for multiple drafts of a letter, then certainly take them. Personally, I find it more effective to put aside my pen for a time and think within the confines of my own mind rather than spill all my thoughts over parchment. I did do so in this instance, unwilling to punish you with my display of temper.

“I have what Ser Davos refers to as a complicated relationship with Storm’s End. In my heart, it is now and always shall be my home. However, it is that strange affection you can have for a place as it was rather than as it is. Storm’s End is no longer my home, it is Renly’s, and I do not appreciate what it has become under his care. Renly is given to finery and frivolity, which serves a younger brother well but is not helpful for a man who has such a large castle to run and so much of the coast that he ought to be patrolling and protecting. My fleet has assumed the duties at sea that ought to be Renly’s and given how lax he is at collecting the taxes he is owed, I do not know how he continues to fund his excesses.

“No, I told myself that I was ready to pick up my pen and would not complain about my younger brother. I chose to bring Shireen to Storm’s End because we both hate King’s Landing and, despite all else I might have to say about my brother, he loves Shireen dearly. He does not understand her in the slightest, but he loves her. So long as his house guests leave her alone, that is good enough.

“As for me, the pain of Storm’s End is less than the pain of King’s Landing. Though Renly does not rely on my good advice as he once did, he is not given to the fits of cruelty that take our elder brother. At least, not usually. Renly likes to be liked, and so in that desperation he can be cruel to those he knows will forgive him for it. Shireen claims that he does it on accident and Davos argues that Renly is still young, but I disagree with them both. Renly is easily led and has pride in the wrong things, but he knows when he does wrong. He has sense enough for that.

“This very day one of the Stormlands Lords who somehow always seems to be here plying Renly for his favor instead of handling matters in his own keep thought to brag to me about Renly’s fine hunting birds and how there was no better huntsman. Which is absolute nonsense because Renly rides about in clothes so bright that even blind creatures can see him coming. And that is nothing compared to the hoard of people he takes along with him when he hunts. The ground shakes enough that I am surprised the animals do not take shelter to avoid an earthquake.

“Renly is fully aware of which of us is the superior hunter, but my brother cannot help himself. And so, like a fool, Renly began telling his wretched little Lord all about a goshawk I once possessed and was convinced to abandon because of its weak wings. Once in his youth when Robert was shaming Renly over some other matter, I confided in my teary-eyed little brother the last time I had let Robert’s disapproval affect my behavior and why he should learn from my mistake. My brother took that knowledge which I had given him in confidence to comfort him in a moment of his own weakness and used it to mock me with one of his Lords who was already content to preen over nothing.

“I am furious because Renly knew he was wrong, yet he did it anyway. He paused for a moment before he mentioned my goshawk, looked at my expression, stuck out his chin and spoke. It has been hours now and still the rage of it churns my stomach.

“All that trouble to take a break so that I might not burden you with my temper, and here I have done it anyway. I scoffed when Shireen told me to be careful when writing to you for it becomes easy to spill words one does not intend. I owe her an apology, and now I offer you one while I consider if these are stories you did not wish to know.

“Somehow I imagine that were I to re-write my letter with something more appropriate you would know and scold me for it.

“—Stannis”

* * *

With the Baratheons at Storm’s End, Jo could admit that she took a bit longer to write her reply letters to them than she had when they were at Dragonstone. For all that Shireen claimed she was thrilled to keep receiving Jo’s letters – and the letter from Lord Stannis had been a surprise (signed just Stannis, it still made her heart skip a beat) – Jo did not want to interfere with family. She had only siblings who she spent all her days with, so an Uncle or a sibling seen only rarely was a strange thing that she did not know the etiquette of. (Sansa said just to write, Robb said not to, and Arya thought the whole worry was nonsense. Jo had written to Uncle Benjen to get his opinion but had not heard back yet.)

However, in her delay, another letter arrived from Lady Shireen so hard on the heels of the other that she suspected the servant who carried it straight from Shireen’s hand to Joanna’s had rushed as fast as horse and ship could carry him.

“Joanna,

“I believe that you and I know one another well enough now that I may ask you about the faith of the Old Gods that father says your people practice. I have asked both the local Septon and Maester Jurne questions on the subject, but the former seems too prejudiced to offer a factual opinion and the latter admits he does not know much of Northern gods. I hope you might be willing to offer me a more thorough education.

“I confess to you, Jo, that father and I have not been great followers of the Seven since my mother’s death. Father has told me that his faith in them was always perfunctory, while my own never took root. I am told that my mother was as devout a follower as there could be, but despite the various Septas and Septons, Florents and other nobles who have attempted to convince me either that I ought to respect my mother by following her faith, or that I ought to rise above her faithfulness since her it failed her in the end, or that it was the Seven who saved my life, I have never been as devoted as they might like.”

Joanna paused to suck in a long breath so she did not scream obscenities at the wretched folk who thought to burden Shireen with the idea that her mother had been cursed by the gods.

“I _have_ tried. Perhaps not as much as I could have, but no matter my attempts at prayer I admit that I do not feel the warm embrace of the Seven that so many have spoken of. I wonder if perhaps I might have been different if I had known my mother and her faith instead of my father’s certainty that it was not prayers that saved me, but medicine. (I confess, sometimes I lose myself in thinking how different I might have been if I had known my mother, what impact she might have had on who I am. Do you do the same with yours?) I have done my best to offer the prayers and tithes as I am told I should, however, I have recently been told that even my attempts to know any one of the Seven well enough to feel that burning in my breast has been improperly done.

“You see, I have prayed to each aspect of the Seven individually for a time, trying to know each one of them and find some aspect that might offer me the comfort that others speak of.

“No, that is a lie. I confess, I have not turned to the Stranger. When I went to the Sept at Dragonstone and told the Seven of my plan, I knelt and lit a candle to the Stranger with my apologies that I would not be seeking him out. My father has been quite clear that I am his heir, but I have come across too many women who I believe would happily claim I have been called to the Stranger and ought to deliver my life to the Silent Sisters so that they might marry my father and bear him a new heir. I believe that as an outcast itself, the Stranger would understand my hesitance to give up the one place of belonging I have in the world.

“With the other six, however, I have been through. I started with the Maid, though, that felt too hypocritical to me to persist with for long. That we are both young and women are the only things which the Maiden and I have in common. She is too beautiful and sought after for me to want to demand her attention when there are so many other young ladies who no doubt need her protection more than I.

“The Mother I thanked for bringing me safely into the world, but… I have a secret to tell you that I beg of you not to share. You see, my mother bore my father three sons before I came to them. All three of my brothers were stillborn. And my mother, she kept them. In jars.”

Joanna hissed at the foul thought.

“Septa Irys loved my mother dearly and upon her death took the majority of my mother’s possessions, including the remains of my brothers. Whether my father ever knew of the jars’ existence in the first place, I do not know. But he certainly did not know that Septa Irys kept them, and that during my private study with her the Septa had long used their bodies as a tool to preach my own mother’s damnation. Apparently my mother presented herself a dutiful servant of the Mother, but then she lost all three of my brothers, and she betrayed the one child the Mother sought to gift her with. Septa Irys liked to lecture me that if my mother had been faithful to me in my time of sickness she would have earned the Mother’s blessing and favored with a living son. She preached to me that I must learn from my mother’s mistake before I met the same fate.

“My nightmares of their shriveled bodies floating away in those jars is what told my father that something was going on. Needless to say, Septa Irys was cast out Dragonstone and we have relied on Maester Cressen’s far more academic approach to religion.

“Either way, every time I kneel before the Mother I see my brothers and hear Septa Irys’ shrill voice telling me that I must cleanse myself before I fall like my mother. I find no peace there. Considering the Mother’s nature, I apologized, but thought that of all the Seven, the Mother might understand the pain of my broken family and forgive me for it.

“I thought I would have better luck with the Crone, seeing as I have been called an old spirit more often than a child, and since it was guidance that I sought. But I felt none of her counsel. I attempted the Warrior and the Father next, but it was much the same. I understand war and justice – I am my father’s child after all – but both were too far from my own experience to speak with me. I confess that I know little of crafts and labor, but as I am a broken a thing I thought there might be some hope to be found with the Smith. Alas, it was much the same.

“I might have found more comfort in the Smith’s presence had I not made the mistake of attempting to seek him out when we were here at Storm’s End. Maester Jurne joined me in the sept and I explained my thoughts to him. He is devoted equally to the Crone and the Smith, so we had an excellent conversation on the subject. Maester Jurne quite supportive of my search. So supportive that he applied to the local Septon for advice.

“That man was quite less supportive. 

“It was difficult to connect with any aspect of the Seven after one of their emissaries made it a point of lecturing me in front of all the faithful guests of Storm’s End that my whole-hearted devotion ought to be to the Maiden. A lecture which my fellow guest though it appropriate to join in.

“Perhaps I ought to have asked this before I began, but please do not mention the particulars of this encounter to my father. He was with Ser Davos for several days and missed the whole of it. If he knew, we would be back at Dragonstone with the next tide and the slight repairs in his relationship with Uncle Renly would be torn asunder. I do not want my work undone because of the harsh words of a few of my Uncle’s guests. But still, I think this might be a good time to learn the truth of the Old Gods from one who knows them well.

“—Shireen”

* * *

Breakfasts at Storm’s End were grand affairs that occurred so late in the morning they barely deserved the name. By the time Uncle Renly’s guests met around the table, Shireen had already been up, eaten her first breakfast, and conducted half her business for the day. Thankfully, father had returned last night and if Shireen was going to have to sit around doing nothing, at least she could do it with him instead of people who drove Shireen mad. Lady Blackberry had not drawn breath the entire meal and even Uncle Renly was starting to look a bit twitchy at the prospect of a moment of silence.

Rather than the alternative, silence was thrust upon them by the arrival of Maester Jurne with a scroll tucked between his fingers. Uncle Renly straightened up in glee, and father finally looked up from his plate after ignoring everyone’s attempts to get his attention through the entire meal.

“Yes, Jurne?” Uncle Renly held out his hand.

“Pardon me, Lord Renly, but Lady Shireen, there was a raven for you.”

“A what?” Every lady at the table giggled at the idea of anyone having something of import to say to Shireen Baratheon.

“A raven. From House Stark.” That cut straight through their snickering, for no one ever laughed at the mention of the Starks. Shireen took the scroll with thanks and cracked the seal right there at the table. She would like to pretend that she had decided reading it in private would just give them more to gossip about, but in truth, she was too excited to think her actions through. Shireen ignored their waiting eyes to read and re-read the words etched in Jo’s fierce handwriting:

> “Yours is the fury.”

The note was signed with a drawing of a wolf’s head that Shireen did not need color to know ought to have red eyes.

“Tell us, Lady Shireen, what secret notes are you being send from the Northmen? Is Robb Stark sending you love letters?” Lady Blackberry asked and the other women chattered. But for the first time in weeks, Shireen did not blush at their teasing.

She looked up with an expression befitting her father’s face and corrected the woman. “ _Lord_ Robb, if you please. Though when they are being informal, his fellow Northmen refer to the Stark heir as The Young Wolf, which I find rather charming.”

“I—” The women froze under Shireen’s unexpected reply.

“I am certain you did not intend to be disrespectful to either myself or the heir of one of the great houses, Lady Blackberry.” Shireen gave a brief pause before uttering the Lady’s family name, a house so little known that if the Lady was not currently in bed with a Tyrell cousin then not even their liege lord would be dealing with them. “So I must assume that you simply did not know the proper way to address Lord Robb Stark.”

The entire table sat silent, all the guests stunned at the most words they had ever heard Shireen Baratheon speak all together. Uncle Renly looked more concerned by the sudden turn in conversation, while father was trying to understand what sort of women’s implication he had missed that made Shireen so angry.

“Yes, well,” Lady Blackberry cleared her throat and pressed on, in no way offering up the apology that she ought to have given the situation. “It is such a lovely day, Lord Renly, we should all go for a walk about the gardens.”

Before Renly could pretend to be enthused about spending time with the women pawing all over him, Shireen spoke. “Unfortunately my father and uncle have matters to discuss.”

The “I beg your pardon?” came from Lady Blackberry rather than either of the parties she was fabricating activities for.

“My father returned to Storm’s End last night while the house was otherwise occupied.” Which was a polite way of saying he hadn’t wanted to speak to any of them. “Considering that Uncle Renly was busy seeing to his guests, did you not think that perhaps they might have matters to discuss?”

“I assumed they had conducted their business already.”

Shireen was rather impressed at how the woman managed to keep such a friendly tone despite speaking through clenched teeth. “As Uncle Renly is so fond of saying, breakfast is no time for business.”

“Surely whatever business Lord Stannis has about preparing ships that we do not need can wait.”

And with that, Shireen lost whatever thin veneer of ladylike politeness she was clinging to. “House Baratheon has matters to attend to.”

Needless to say, breakfast disbanded rather quickly after that, the guests going off to Shireen knew not where and her father and Uncle Renly herding her towards the solar Uncle Renly had set aside for father’s use whenever he came to Storm’s End. (Uncle Renly’s solar was rather more in the center of the castle and guests had a habit of coming and going as they pleased rather than respecting the value of a closed door.)

Uncle Renly bit his lip to keep from saying anything, but he needn’t have worried. The moment the door closed behind them Stannis said, “That was rude.”

“She deserved it.”

“Because she insulted Robb Stark?” Poor Uncle Renly sounded so confused.

“Partly. I told you that Joanna Snow is my dearest friend, and I won’t have her family spoken of in such terms. I would have ignored her other slights and not treated her as such if she hadn’t been saying such things about the Starks.”

“What other slights?” Father demanded. Shireen froze, only now realizing what had slipped out. “Shireen? What other slights?” Shireen said nothing and her father turned to his brother. “Renly?”

“I don’t—”

“She never did it in front of Uncle Renly. She never did it in front of any of the men.” Shireen rushed out before her father could say something Uncle Renly didn’t deserve.

“What did she do?”

“She didn’t say it to me, she just said it where I could hear.”

“Shireen.” Her father’s tone brooked no hesitation.

“She spoke with Lady Hart about how if she should have such a disfigured child with Uncle Renly then he wouldn’t force her to keep it the way you forced mother to keep me.”

Her father didn’t move, still in the way he only got when he was beating his fury down before he did something rash. Uncle Renly, however, darted forward and swept Shireen off the floor and into his arms. “I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve thrown her out immediately if I’d known!” He leaned back from their hug just enough to look her in the eye. “I’ll throw her out now.”

“We have something more important to discuss.”

Uncle Renly’s lip quirked up despite the seriousness of the situation. He let her back to the floor, but Shireen kept a grip of his hand as they turned together to face her father, and all the rage that had melted out of him at the sight of Shireen and Renly together. Her father shuttered it away, as he always did, but Shireen jutted out her chin and refused to let this perfect moment pass her by. She was a stag, even when dealing with two others.

“Father… I like Uncle Renly, and so do you. We just don’t like all these people. And Uncle Renly,” she turned to him, “you like father and I. I know you like to have company, but my name day is in a few weeks, and perhaps for that we can arrange to have a little _less_ company. Satisfy all three of us so we might spend more time together?”

“You are always welcome here, Shireen!” Uncle Renly looked genuinely hurt at the thought she might ever feel like she couldn’t be here.

“But _people_ , Uncle Renly. They always say things like this. And I know you like your grand parties, and father and I will never be good at those, but I miss you, and father misses you, and I think you miss us. As much fun as your parties are, you like us better.”

The objections from both men overlapped and Shireen barreled on. “Father, you said Uncle Renly is the one who convinced the King that you should go to Winterfell on your own and without a retinue of people, which is precisely what you wanted and Uncle Robert thought it wasn’t grand enough until Uncle Renly mentioned it! And Uncle Renly, not two days ago when Lord Harper was trying to wriggle out of paying his taxes to you, you said to him that if he was concerned they were too high you would consult with Father on the subject to be sure. You meant it truly that you wanted Father’s opinion on the matter, and Lord Harper took is as a threat that Father would no doubt raise the taxes and agreed to the prior terms. You value one another’s opinions!”

“Shireen, just because I value you father’s—” Shireen cut her uncle off before he could say something that he thought was charming about all her father’s experience and that Father would only take as calling him old and out of touch.

“We are in my father’s solar! Not the solar you have set aside for guests, not the solar readied for him this very trip, not the spare Baratheon solar that your brothers may use when they are here, but _my father’s_ solar. The room that you have had prepared for him so long as I can remember. The solar that is not the one he occupied as a boy, so don’t lie to me and pretend that you simply left it as it was. You chose a room for father, and outfitted it just for him, and set it aside just for him, and keep people out when he is away. You do not set up studies with all person’s favorite books and put them in their favorite part of a castle if you don’t want them to come around more.

“And father,” Shireen turned to him and seized upon his dumbfounded expression as though it had never once crossed his mind that the place set aside for him in Renly’s house had been on purpose. “Just before you left, Uncle Renly told you that Lord Blackmore was terrified of you and you ought to say something nice to him, and _you listened_.”

“Renly was ridiculing me for making the ridiculous man panic.” Father still sounded too confused for his tone to be scolding. Shireen turned to Uncle Renly and raised an eyebrow at him. If this was going to move forward, he had to be the one to do it.

He shrugged uncomfortably. “That’s the only way to make you do anything.”

“Tricking me?”

“No! Telling you you can’t. You’re smart enough that I figure you know what I’m doing, that’s just how you like to have it pointed out.” Shireen was rather convinced that despite her father’s renowned expertise in strategy, he’d never once actually applied those same muscles to dealing with his younger brother. He furrowed his brow and looked as though he was running over a dozen different experiences in his head, piecing together his own actions, Renly’s teasing, and how he had inadvertently played right into his brother’s hands. Rather than the mortal offense at his own lack of awareness that Shireen was prepared to navigate, her father just sighed. Her ran a hand over the short hairs that still grew at the back of his head and asked, “Renly, Shireen would like to have a quiet name day celebration here at Storm’s End. May we?”

“How quiet?”

Father and child glared at the man like they couldn’t believe he was bungling this already.

“No, no! Of course! I mean, I would be delighted to have you, you know I would!” They nodded because, no, Renly’s love of Shireen had never been in doubt. “I simply wanted to know if you only wanted the three of us, or if there were some others you’d like to invite. Will your Sewaworths be back in time?”

Father explained that they would likely be back before Shireen’s name day, but just before. Lady Brienne was due to arrive any day, and Shireen had no objections to her company, neither to Lady Margery who was due to visit her brother before the storm season set upon them. And the guests that were presently here, they were scheduled to leave just before the rains started and others still were slated to arrive and depart before the change in weather. Renly would throw them all out if Shireen asked, but she didn’t. So long as she was without company she loathed by the time her name day arrived, she could endure.

The conversation found them all in separate chairs that had been positioned before a fireplace that father hardly ever used but secretly preferred spending his evenings sitting in while he read. The guest list was arranged and was Renly prepared to drop polite hints to all of the parties that they would be expected to leave well before the storms actually set in – with no mention of Shireen’s name day because how they felt about her or not, they would be insulted not to be invited. Renly leaned back in his chair and oh so casually asked, “What brought this on?”

“Joanna.” Shireen answered without embarrassment. This morning’s scroll was tucked away in her pocket and she was torn between having it framed and put up in her rooms or just carrying it in her pocket for the rest of her life.

“Lady Snow, with whom you’ve been writing?” For all Uncle Renly had too much charm for the rest of his family, Shireen could appreciate that he had never once called Jo the Bastard of Winterfell. It was less from respect for the woman herself and more for Shireen’s soft smile when she spoke of her, but that was good enough for now.

“Before we came to visit, I told Joanna I was lonely. To help in what little way she could, sent me a whole bundle of letters that I could read to keep me company. They were all about her siblings.” Shireen shrugged.

“And you… wanted one?” Her father stiffened and Shireen let herself roll her eyes.

“Don’t be silly, Uncle Renly. I have Edric and the Seaworth boys for that. It was just the way she talked about them, how much they meant to her and how dearly she valued each and every one of them, even the littlest. I don’t know many siblings who are that fond of one another and I thought… well, I wanted that for the people I love.”

A smile broke over Uncle Renly’s face like sun over a stormy sky and he abandoned his chair to cuddle up next to Shireen and drop a kiss to her hair. Father had that small, secret smile, though Shireen didn’t know if it was because of the results of her meddling or if he was thinking on the contents of all those letters Joanna had sent that Shireen had happily let him read. As it was, Shireen was rather more concerned with the way Uncle Renly put his finger to his chin and mulled for a moment, the position and his little “Hmm,” making him look more like his brother in that moment then he ever had before.

* * *

The raven came by way of Ser Edric, a scroll delivered to him at breakfast that he held onto until they were in the relative privacy of the training yard. He reached out and stopped her before she could tie on her bracers and handed over his scroll with the broken stag seal. For a moment Jo thought Ser Edric had seen her glaring at him for getting a letter when she had received no reply to her desperate raven. Jo thought she’d swallowed back the jealousy quick enough, and even with the letter outstretched she was tempted to tell Ser Edric that she didn’t need to read it, the letter was for him. Jo just wanted to know if Shireen was well.

The fellow had gotten rather good at seeing through her, and with a roll of his eyes turned over Jo’s hand to drop the scroll in her palm. He stepped back with crossed arms and an expectant expression. Joanna did not grace him with an eye roll of her own, too distracted by the cracked seal that she always took such pains to keep whole when letters came to her. With gentle hands she unrolled the message and found:

> “Lady Joanna Snow and Ser Edric Storm:
> 
> “You are both cordially invited to Storm’s End to celebrate the name day of Lady Shireen Baratheon. “

The first was written in round, flowery script that Joanna had never seen before. Below was sharp tight handwriting that Joanna was rather embarrassed to say she knew as well as her own:

> “The _Black Bertha_ will meet you at White Harbor. Ser Davos will expect your arrival before the end of the month.”

The ‘in order to get here in time to celebrate Shireen’s name day’ was implied. Though in future conversation with Ser Edric, Joanna would discover that this would get them there with at least a week to spare, not in anticipation of summer storms, but just so their company might be enjoyed.

The third handwriting was a strange amalgamation of the two above, round as the first but tight as the second and Joanna was beginning to hope its bearer might find a way to walk the middle road in all things. It read:

> “I’m so excited to see you both. Please come!
> 
> “All our love,
> 
> “Shireen, Stannis and Renly Baratheon.”


End file.
